Post by Laurael Feathersong on Oct 8, 2009 22:06:09 GMT -5
In a vacant Stormwind apartment a journal is lying on the ground, pages down, it's spine broken. Lifting it several pages fall out, the cover heavily worn, and some pages yellowed and curling. This book is obviously very old, even the ink is fading here and there. Several of the pages are covered in random musings, elvish letters, drawings, and Common language practices; obvious because of poor grammar and repeated letter drills. On the first page, lovingly ornate, is "Laurael Feathersong".
The book must span a long time, as the drawings and letters go from childish to a steady hand. From banterings about playing with Furlbogs and swimming in hot springs to deep worries and regret. The last pages seem particularly troubled, with hard stabs of the ink pen and ink trails here and there; the letters sharp and hard.
"-10,000y.
I was born the year that we meet the Burning Legion for the first time. My mother cradled me through the masses, protecting me from the continuous assaults. Despite losing everything she owned; her colorful clothing, her jewelries, her home, most of her friends, and eventually my father, she carried on. I remember none of this, of course, but the tales were told too many times to count. Stories off demonic hounds and burning rocks falling into the midst of the masses, then rising from the ground to trample more.
-9,900y.
We moved to Winterspring not long after the dragons came. There were always whisperings of a man named Illidan, and well. I didn't understand what they were talking about until the exile came. The Highborn were all pushed out of our villages, I lost several friends over a few years, parents dragging them into doorways and eventually leaving all together.
-8,998y.
I was officially granted the mantle of a Druidess, it is still clear in my mind, as Moonglade was covered in ornate ribbons and lanterns. We were celebrating the great anniversary of the world tree, and it seemed, to me, that everyone was celebrating my successes.
I continued training, eventually choosing the way of the claw. I spent untold hours with the Furlbog. Even more hours spent with a handful of friends, roaming the wilderness, speaking with the animals and aiding in the great balance as best we could. Shanda quickly became my closest of friends, nearly a sister to me, and eventually my greatest ally.
25y.
The Third War, as the Humans later called it. The Orcs came then, destroying our land, bringing their filth and taint along with them. At first only a few were sent, and then more and more orders arrived. The great day came that we all felt a shaking in our hearts, our Cenarius was lost. In rage, many of the older druids were awoken, including Malfurion Stormrage. I was finally called on, along with my group of friends I had become so close with. Shanda and I fought side by side the entire time, leading our small group.
Later that year, the Burning Legion returned. We had our turn to meet the horror of them ourselves, the old stories doing it no justice. Words could not explain the smell, the feel of them. And certainly not the aura that seemed to roll off them in a foul wave. In the great final battle, Nordrassil was lost. We all felt the sickening loss of what we had taken for granted, our precious immortality.
We join the Alliance, not a soul is without their doubts of these young races.
26y.
A small band of Humans come to visit Winterspring, along with them is Elidras. For all of my years, I had never taken the time to find a mate. When Elidras and I began to disappear with one another, people began to whisper. I was Kaldorei, a powerful Druid. He was a Human, only 23 at the time, it would have been like choosing an child if he were only our kind.
We had two years together, though they were only a blink in my years of life, they were the culmination of my life. I would have happily returned all the other time I had spent for just two more years like those.
28y.
Arthas, a Human prince, travels to Northrend to obtain something. Illidan himself follows behind. We later learn that they were fighting over a throne, a frozen throne. Arthas is now called the Lich King, with the plague that is already spreading across the Eastern Kingdoms, Elidras' team is called to a small expedition. I follow, my own group coming to assist me. There were 13 of us all together.
Only a few days after our landing in Northrend we are attacked by a group of Scourge. Shanda is struck, ignoring my own opponent for only a moment, I seek to deflect the killing blow aimed for her chest. The moment was too long, and I felt white hot pain in my face as the blade cut down my throat, nearly to my stomach. On the ground, as my eyes begin to dim I hear the most pained cries I had heard in all of my years. Moments later Elidras falls next to me, his eyes on mine, never to see again.
I cannot know if any of the others survived, my memories stop there. How am I still writing, one should ask, is only in fragments. I was raised as a Death Knight, my training and change I do not remember. How long I was there, I have no knowledge of. I remember feeling as though I were waking up, a female Kaldorei on the end of my blade, and not knowing how I got there. Rage after that. Endless fighting with others who were trying to stop me from leaving, clarity sifting in and out.
Eventually I escaped and stole on board of a ship leaving for Kalimdor. I wandered my way back to Winterspring and found Stars Rest abandoned. The land tainted, the others gone. The old barrows were emptied, and became my home for the next several years. I caught fragments of news when hunting near to the new Goblin town.
The Ebon Blade broke away from the Lich King and managed to join the Alliance and the Horde as new warriors. I took this as my chance to escape my self created prison and have now made my way to Stormwind.
From a Druid, to a dead mercenary in a stinking Human city. For now, I will use my occupation to stay near jobs leading me to the scourge, where I will one day find who is responsible for this.
The book must span a long time, as the drawings and letters go from childish to a steady hand. From banterings about playing with Furlbogs and swimming in hot springs to deep worries and regret. The last pages seem particularly troubled, with hard stabs of the ink pen and ink trails here and there; the letters sharp and hard.
"-10,000y.
I was born the year that we meet the Burning Legion for the first time. My mother cradled me through the masses, protecting me from the continuous assaults. Despite losing everything she owned; her colorful clothing, her jewelries, her home, most of her friends, and eventually my father, she carried on. I remember none of this, of course, but the tales were told too many times to count. Stories off demonic hounds and burning rocks falling into the midst of the masses, then rising from the ground to trample more.
-9,900y.
We moved to Winterspring not long after the dragons came. There were always whisperings of a man named Illidan, and well. I didn't understand what they were talking about until the exile came. The Highborn were all pushed out of our villages, I lost several friends over a few years, parents dragging them into doorways and eventually leaving all together.
-8,998y.
I was officially granted the mantle of a Druidess, it is still clear in my mind, as Moonglade was covered in ornate ribbons and lanterns. We were celebrating the great anniversary of the world tree, and it seemed, to me, that everyone was celebrating my successes.
I continued training, eventually choosing the way of the claw. I spent untold hours with the Furlbog. Even more hours spent with a handful of friends, roaming the wilderness, speaking with the animals and aiding in the great balance as best we could. Shanda quickly became my closest of friends, nearly a sister to me, and eventually my greatest ally.
25y.
The Third War, as the Humans later called it. The Orcs came then, destroying our land, bringing their filth and taint along with them. At first only a few were sent, and then more and more orders arrived. The great day came that we all felt a shaking in our hearts, our Cenarius was lost. In rage, many of the older druids were awoken, including Malfurion Stormrage. I was finally called on, along with my group of friends I had become so close with. Shanda and I fought side by side the entire time, leading our small group.
Later that year, the Burning Legion returned. We had our turn to meet the horror of them ourselves, the old stories doing it no justice. Words could not explain the smell, the feel of them. And certainly not the aura that seemed to roll off them in a foul wave. In the great final battle, Nordrassil was lost. We all felt the sickening loss of what we had taken for granted, our precious immortality.
We join the Alliance, not a soul is without their doubts of these young races.
26y.
A small band of Humans come to visit Winterspring, along with them is Elidras. For all of my years, I had never taken the time to find a mate. When Elidras and I began to disappear with one another, people began to whisper. I was Kaldorei, a powerful Druid. He was a Human, only 23 at the time, it would have been like choosing an child if he were only our kind.
We had two years together, though they were only a blink in my years of life, they were the culmination of my life. I would have happily returned all the other time I had spent for just two more years like those.
28y.
Arthas, a Human prince, travels to Northrend to obtain something. Illidan himself follows behind. We later learn that they were fighting over a throne, a frozen throne. Arthas is now called the Lich King, with the plague that is already spreading across the Eastern Kingdoms, Elidras' team is called to a small expedition. I follow, my own group coming to assist me. There were 13 of us all together.
Only a few days after our landing in Northrend we are attacked by a group of Scourge. Shanda is struck, ignoring my own opponent for only a moment, I seek to deflect the killing blow aimed for her chest. The moment was too long, and I felt white hot pain in my face as the blade cut down my throat, nearly to my stomach. On the ground, as my eyes begin to dim I hear the most pained cries I had heard in all of my years. Moments later Elidras falls next to me, his eyes on mine, never to see again.
I cannot know if any of the others survived, my memories stop there. How am I still writing, one should ask, is only in fragments. I was raised as a Death Knight, my training and change I do not remember. How long I was there, I have no knowledge of. I remember feeling as though I were waking up, a female Kaldorei on the end of my blade, and not knowing how I got there. Rage after that. Endless fighting with others who were trying to stop me from leaving, clarity sifting in and out.
Eventually I escaped and stole on board of a ship leaving for Kalimdor. I wandered my way back to Winterspring and found Stars Rest abandoned. The land tainted, the others gone. The old barrows were emptied, and became my home for the next several years. I caught fragments of news when hunting near to the new Goblin town.
The Ebon Blade broke away from the Lich King and managed to join the Alliance and the Horde as new warriors. I took this as my chance to escape my self created prison and have now made my way to Stormwind.
From a Druid, to a dead mercenary in a stinking Human city. For now, I will use my occupation to stay near jobs leading me to the scourge, where I will one day find who is responsible for this.
))
))
Founded April 26, 2005